Vodka or Scotch for Whiskey?
by Aydine
Summary: Sequel to 'Stop! Or I'll shoot the kitty' Spike really loves that kitty. Spuffy.


**Title**: Vodka or Scotch for Whiskey?  
**Author**: Aydin S.K.  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Summary**: Sequel to 'Stop! Or I'll shoot the kitty!' Spike really loves that kitty, poor Buffy.  
**Timeline**: Set during season 6.  
**Disclaimer**: All belongs to Joss.

"Have you completely lost it?" Spike howled at Buffy. "You can't possibly be serious!"

Buffy raised her eyebrows as she folded her arms. "Why not? I mean, yes, I am," she came out with.

"Yeah, but why would you do something like that?" Spike fussed while his hand ran through Whiskey's pelt. Spike had grown so attached to the cat over the last few weeks, the feeling was mutual, Whiskey had found a great playmate in Spike. Buffy was a little bit jealous, after all, Spike had won the kitty for her, now look who was left empty-handed.

Buffy glared at her lover and the cat with resentment. She sighed. "I thought we just covered this part over and over, Spike. Because Whiskey could use a playmate, so -"

"I thought I was his playmate," Spike interrupts. "We have great fun," he then snickered and cuddled the little cat some more.

Yes, Buffy had noticed that Whiskey and Spike had a lot of glee together. "That's very true," Buffy admitted gloomy. But, she tried to be hopeful and tried again to reason with Spike. "But I think that maybe another kitty would be good for him. Don't you?"

Spike looked up from the cat, deadpan he faced Buffy. "No."

Once more, Buffy frowned in surprise and annoyance. "Wow. Heart-warming, really, Spike."

Spike shrugged. "He seems happy enough to me, love. He's got his toys 'n tinkers, food, a litter box," Spike rationalised. "Whiskey's in a good place."

"Whiskey lives in a crypt," she quibbled. "And his best friend is a Vampire."

"What of it? So's your fancy man," he laughed and flattered himself until he felt the sting of what Buffy said. "Hey, you've got no sodding right."

Buffy's hand shot up. "That's it," she decided and turned around. "I'm going to the pet shop."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Spike wailed and traipsed after her.

Buffy stopped in her tracks. This was so unfair. Buffy wanted a little kitty to cuddle too, Spike hardly ever let her pet Whiskey. And that deal they made with Willow, none of that happened, thus far, Whiskey hadn't been at Buffy's house.

"You can name it," Buffy said. She was hellbent on getting another cat and she was going to pick one at the shop today. "Plenty of drinks to choose from," she derogated. Immediately after she said that, Buffy cringed and didn't move a muscle. Maybe she shouldn't have said that.  
Buffy could just picture herself shouting things like 'Scotch, get back here!' or 'Vodka, the cemetery's no place for you.'

Just like that one time when Whiskey slipped out the door of Spike's crypt, Buffy searched the graveyard, yelling 'Whiskey, are ya here?' in broad daylight.  
People were lining up to give her directions to either the nearest liquor store or a clinic. A banality, but so very embarrassing.

She looked at Spike and Whiskey in turn. They really were tight buddies, but Buffy felt rejected. She lost count as to how many times she and Spike had gotten into an arguement when ever Whiskey would follow Buffy around. Albeit sporadically, Spike couldn't handle.

"What do you mean, I can name it?" Spike decried. "I want a say in this, and I say we're not having another bloody cat!" he yelled while Whiskey, a little disturbed now, slowly moved his ears backwards. When Spike noticed Whiskey's unsettled tenue, he coddled the little cat to buck him up. Whiskey purred.

Taken aback, Buffy folded her arms. "Your say? What about my say?"

"This your crypt?" he uttered.

Thrown off, Buffy wondered what point Spike was trying to make. "No, but technically -"

"My crypt, my say," Spike started determined and took a moment to think. "My cat," he concluded.

Did Buffy really hear this? "Wh - Your cat!" she blurted out, enraged. She didn't even have the words to express her indignation.

"Fine," Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. "My crypt, my say, our cat."

Boggled, Buffy stared back at him. "Do you have a point, at all?" she wanted to know.

Spike fondled with the cat's pelt and thought about that for a while. "Other than not wanting a second cat, no, not particularly."

"Can't we agree on something here?" Buffy let out desperately. "God, I can't believe you're that possessive!"  
Buffy just wished that Spike would let go of that damn cat already. He really didn't want to share Whiskey with anyone.

Spike snorted. "I'm possessive!" he threw out and didn't let go of the cat. "You're one to talk: 'Can I have my blue Kashmir sweater back?' Pft."

Buffy just stared at him and gawked in shock. "It was my sweater!"

"Yeah, my point exactly," Spike said, under the impression that he made a point.

"And you lifted it from my room!" Buffy continued and lost control over the volume of her voice. "In which you had NO business in the first place!"

Spike made a haughty sound, but didn't have a comeback at this point.

"Sweater-sniffer," Buffy scolded calmly but with indignity, tucking her hands in her hips she awaited a response from Spike's side.  
But Spike didn't say a word, he just kept petting that stupid cat. Yes, stupid cat! Buffy was so angry that in the process of this arguement she lost interest in having a cat, all that was left now was her extreme desire to make her point. If she still had one at all, at the start her entire point was to get another cat, she just didn't want it anymore, she just wanted some respect and consideration, and that sham-deafness of Spike, that was totally sham and she had to overrun that, damn the cat.

Buffy decided that she would just pretend to still want that cat until Spike would finally yield, if he doesn't, than she would settle with having annoyed Spike.  
"Cats are not like sweaters, Spike," she picked up on their toss around. "You can't say 'The cat's mine, don't touch it.'"

"Hey," Spike defended himself. "That was different. Clem was going to eat him. I saved his life!" he demanded some recognition.

"That's not the point, Spike. There are things you share and there are things you don't. Please tell me I don't need to explain basic moral values," Buffy went on.

"Oh, I get what you're sayin'," Spike uttered in a threatening fashion and stalked towards Buffy with the cat still on his arm. "First you try to force another cat into my home, then you lecture me and lastly, you're steppin' on my bleedin' toes."

"I don't try to force, I try to reason. You're the one who's all force and demanding.. and irritating. And honestly," she pauses with attitude. "I think I trampled on something bigger than your toe!" Buffy adds insulting.

Appalled, Spike's mouth shot open. "Are you implyin' I can't take it like a man?" he said in response to Buffy's insult.

"You're demonstrating that's exactly what you can't!" Buffy yelled. She was really starting to enjoy this conflict now. All that emotion just coming loose and out in the open. If this goes on much longer, she might not be able to yell at him without a smile.  
"I suggest something; you say no," she yipped, still able to keep a straight face. "I try to reason; you shut down. When I get annoyed and blunt; you talk about your toes."  
Buffy paused to look at Spike's reaction and from what she could make out, Spike tried to come off as oblivious and looked the other way.

"God, you're like a whiny little woman with a massive dose of testosterone!" Buffy exclaimed upon getting no response and to add to her Spike-theorem.

"Grande," Spike said, seemingly incognizant. "Should we talk about you for a bit, pet? 'cause I have lots I -"

"No!" Buffy rebuked. "We're not talking about me until this is sorted out! We are going to find a middle-ground to -"

"There is no middle-ground, Buffy," Spike said, even-tempered. "You want another cat, I don't. It's impossible unless we can split the poor bugger in two; one would be not here, and the other part, well, it'd be dead."

"Yeah, but -"

"Either you have to agree with me and we don't get another cat," the Vampire interrupted her. "Or I have to agree with you, and we do get a second cat, which will never happen," he added smugly.

"You're not even trying to make a point, are you?" was all Buffy could get out of her throat.

Pensive, Spike looked at her. "Thought I just did. And next to that, I don't have to have a point because I don't want another bloomin' cat, period. Don't you listen, woman?"

Buffy knew she couldn't beat that, he kind of did have a point.

"You're stupid!" she snapped at Spike and pouted.

"Why?" he wondered and smirked. "Because I'm right?"

"No, you're annoying."

"Yeah, but because I'm right, right?" he asked confident, yet he started to doubt himself a little.

"No," she went on denying. "Because you're like 100+ years older, thinking you're always right."

"And often, I am," Spike declared colourful.

"Yeah," Buffy hesitated. "But not because you're older." Buffy crossed her arms and looked away.

Spike shrugged. Sometimes he just didn't get the Slayer. "Suit yourself," Spike sneered. "Here, have some whiskey."

For a moment, Buffy's face brightened, ready to embrace the kitty that she damned to hell just a few minutes ago.

"Not the cat, Buffy," he sighed as he dangled a bottle of whiskey in front of her. "Have a drink, looks like you could use one, pet."


End file.
